Pick a Star on the Dark Horizon
by wcrmtails
Summary: When Harry finds a connection to his mother the winter before Hogwarts, it changes everything. This is also, in some ways, the story of Lily Evans. But then again, they were always the same, weren't they? Eventual Harry/Draco. Slytherin Harry, though that's not really the point.


**A/N:** First of all, if this chapter has errors it's because I had to write 7k of fic on my phone. If they're there, point them out (though I'll probably notice later and slap myself) and I'll fix them all when I have access to my computer.

Second, the only hp I've written is roleplaying James Potter. So I have literally never written any of these characters. Be kind but if you have any constructive crit that's more than okay.

Third, I am notouriously horrible at finishing fics. But this one has been in my head since I was 12. Each chapter might not be this long, but I'll definitely try to finish this. Hopefully. I also don't know if it'll be one fic or if I'll split it by year. It depends how fast it goes.

Fourth, the title is from The Call by Regina Spektor and the only explanation I have is that I listened to the song repeatedly when I was first reading the books and I told myself then that if I ever wrote this damn fic it would be titled after it. And so.

Lastly, the summary says it's Lily's story too. And it is. With the Thing you'll literally find out a few paragraphs in, it will tie in with Harry's story. Parallel to what he's going through and such. So no, she's not alive in this. Nor is it flashbacks. This is still very much Harry's story, with some Draco/Harry on the side. But it will be slow burn. And I mean sloooow burn. They probably won't be together until third or fourth year.

* * *

It all started with a letter.

Well, that wasn't _quite_ true. It started with a punishment. Dudley had accidentally put one of his favorite toys in the washer, and Harry had, predictably, been blamed for not noticing sooner. He wouldn't dare say that the toy hadn't been there at all and his cousin had probably ruined it some other way. It wouldn't have changed Vernon's barking at him to tidy up the attic anyway.

Laden with cleaning supplies and trash bags, Harry trudged up the stairs until he reached the latch to the attic. It stuck with disuse and he wondered when the last time they bothered to go up there was. And why, then, it was oh so important that it be cleaned now. With a huff, he set down the supplies and got to work on opening the thing. It took a good ten minutes before it finally did and he carefully maneuvered his way up, supplies and all.

The small, triangular room was messier than any he'd seen in the house, and that included Dudley's playroom. He was honestly a bit shocked that his aunt let it get this way at all. Maybe they'd forgotten about it or maybe they just didn't care. Whatever the reason, it just meant he had a long day ahead of him. Harry shivered, rubbing at his thin arms to try and warm himself a little. It was the middle of the winter and the heat didn't reach this far up the house. Make that a _very_ long day.

Still, there was some comfort in the monotony and solitude of the work, and about an hour in Harry found himself numb to the cold. And he couldn't lie, all of the little treasures to be found were way more interesting than sitting in his cupboard, or cleaning the kitchen, or the yard, or whatever else they found for him to do. In fact, he distracted himself for nearly half an hour looking through old records, of all things. He hadn't seen a record player anywhere in the house, and he didn't see one in the attic. Not that he'd be let to use it, but the pictures on the sleeves were interesting. He wondered if they were Vernon's or Petunia's. There were two boxes full of them, but he couldn't see his aunt or uncle listening to any of them.

Once he found himself at the back of the first box, he decided to give in and sit down on the cold floor, legs folding beneath him and slowly filling trash bag finally set aside. With slightly shaking hands, though he didn't notice, he pried the lid off the second box and carefully placed it on the floor. There were remarkably less in this box, but that wasn't all that was in the box. More curious about the items at the bottom of the box than more records, he pulled them all out and set them on top of the box lid. The collection was a rather strange one, Harry thought as he peered at the contents. A crushed, dried bouquet of flowers tied messily with a purple ribbon; a small stuffed bear; an assortment of foreign coins; a stained, folded scarf; and finally, a stack of letters tied with string.

Not much interested in the other things ( _though, the scarf would be nice in this cold_ , he thought a little wistfully), he picked up the stack of letters. With numb fingers, it took longer than he would've liked to untie them. So focused on the task, he didn't look at the names until he had grabbed the first of the stack. In a looping writing read his aunt's name and another that made his heart thud to a stop.

Lily Evans.

The letter nearly dropped out of his hands, but his grip only tightened as he stared at the name. Normally, one wouldn't be so surprised to find their mother's things in her sister's attic, but Harry knew how much his aunt and uncle hated his parents. He hadn't thought she had anything at all of his mum's.

But there it was, right in his hands. Letters his mother had written, held, and sealed. And he wondered if the other things in the boxes had been hers as well. Suddenly, the contents seemed like the most interesting and important items in the entire world. But first, he wanted to read the letter. It wasn't much, but it was something. Without stories of his mother, he didn't even know what she was like. It might not be her in these letters, but it was her writing. There were no less than thirty letters in the box. All from his mother.

With a shaky breath, Harry slipped the letter out, unfolding it. The date was written proudly at the top and he paused, doing the math in his head. It might not be important to anyone else, but he wanted to know how old his mum was when she wrote this. With surprise, she realized she'd only been a year older than him, at eleven. And the writing seemed to reflect that, looking almost as childish as his own, though just like the girls' in his class, much neater. Biting his lip, he eagerly started to read.

 _Dear Petunia,_

 _It's so much fun here! I wish you'd come to the station with me. You would've loved it. I thought he was batty when he told me to run at the brick wall, but then it disappeared into nothing at all. It really was magic, just like Severus said it would be. And the train was the best part. Of course I sat with Sev, but a few other first years sat with us too and it was so so cool, because they'd all grown up with magic. I thought my head was going to explode with everything they told me that he never mentioned. There was this annoying boy, but him and his stupid friend left us alone soon enough. And there was so much candy, Tuney, you wouldn't believe it._

 _I know I've only been gone a week, but I already have so much to tell you. You remember how I was telling you about the houses Sev told me about? I got in Gryffindor, though I was really hoping for Slytherin or Ravenclaw, especially when he got put in Slytherin. But it's not as bad as I thought it would be, I still get to see him constantly. Anyway, this hat started to sing. Isn't that crazy? A singing hat! And when they put it on my head, it started talking to me. It knew everything about me. When it called out Gryffindor, I swear I almost went deaf with all the cheering. I sat down by this girl named Marlene and she's real great. You'd love her._

 _Anyway, the dorms are amazing. I've never slept in a more comfortable bed in my life. Best of all, the boys can't get to ours. They'll slide on their arses right down the stairs if they try. I've got four roommates, though there's more girls in our year in other rooms. There's Marlene, Rachel, and Samantha. They let me have the bed closest to the window._

 _Classes are going wonderfully. I especially like Charms, though Potions is just as fun, because Severus is there too. But Charms is really fun. We learned how to float a feather. I was the second one to get it, because that annoying boy from the train got his first and wouldn't shut up about it. Did I mention he's in my house? It's a nightmare. But I don't really care if I'm first or not, I just love learning about all this stuff. You'd probably be good at History of Magic, if I know you. Maybe I can teach you some stuff when I come home for the winter hols. You don't have to do magic to learn it. Other than those three, there's Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm awful at Transfiguration. I'm not even going to mention it because I'd rather pretend it doesn't exist, thanks. DADA is interesting though. Apparently they haven't been able to keep a professor for more than a year, but I like ours enough. Professor White, though she insists we call her Martha. She's nice. Pretty too, in her twenties._

 _I'll write to you more tomorrow, but I gotta go. Flying lessons! We get to ride on brooms and I wouldn't want to miss it for the world._

 _I wish you were here with me._

 _Love,_

 _Lily_

Harry didn't know what to make of it. There were tears running down his cheeks, but he didn't notice. The letter itself didn't make any sense. Talking hats, magic, potions, and broomsticks. He decided it had to be a game his mum and aunt would play, or something like that. None of it could be real, but it was still his mum. Still her writing, no matter how outlandish it was. And he'd heard his aunt mention a school before in reference to his mother, so that was at least real. He wondered if this Severus person was too.

Whatever it was, and whether it was real or not, he wanted to read more. He wanted to know about her school and her friends. Her life. She was his age when she wrote this. It made him feel connected to her, somehow. He couldn't remember her voice or her smile, but this made her feel more real than she had been his entire life. So what if the stories were about Charms and Potions and flying broomsticks? All it meant is his mom was creative. Just like him. How many countless hours he'd spent in his cupboard thinking up stories and other lives to replace the one he had. Maybe his mum was like that too, though he couldn't imagine her life anything but wonderful, no matter what his aunt and uncle liked to say about her choices. Even if the magic wasn't real, there was another kind just in her words.

Folding it back exactly as it had been, he tucked it back in its envelope. And without much hesitation, picked up another.

* * *

The next few days dragged on much the same way. Harry decided it was too risky to read the letters while he was supposed to be cleaning, so every day he tucked a few more in the waistband of his trousers under his shirt and read them when he was locked back in his cupboard. He found more letters in the other box, as he hadn't actually checked the bottom.

With each letter, the stories just became wilder and wilder. Quidditch, a game played on the brooms, a wizarding town, all sorts of spells. And as they got more ridiculous, they got darker, making Harry slightly nervous. Stories of a war, of a man named Voldemort (who Lily stubbornly insisted he be called), Severus turning on her. And his father, too. The annoying boy, who became more prominent in the letters. Harry didn't know how much of it to believe. This was his mother and he refused to believe she was a liar, but none of it made any sense. Except that it did. It explained a lot of things, actually. The letters started to thin as his aunt and mother drew further and further apart and by the time he got to the most recent, he found himself believing her every word.

Harry wasn't stupid. He didn't ask his aunt or uncle about it, or mention the letters at all. But he did find himself staring at the scar on his forehead more often, or his messy hair and glasses, or his green eyes. He hadn't even known what his parents looked like, not until the letters. The letters that he read and reread again until they began to wear from being folded so many times. The magic was enthralling, but he mostly wanted to read his mother's words. If he concentrated hard enough, he could make up a voice in his head, softer than Aunt Petunia's and more energetic, reading them aloud to him.

Even when school started again, he didn't really care about the teasing or bullying anymore. For once, he had some hope. But it did mean more daydreaming in class, of owls and castles and bright red hair, and subsequently more punishments. But Harry didn't even mind that. If his mum really was telling the truth, he'd be at Hogwarts next year anyway. And even if she wasn't, thinking about her and his dad was enough to make things a little more bearable. Doing chores or staying with Miss Figg and her cats, or doing homework, he could just think about them, and it wouldn't be so bad anymore. Vernon might've hit him over the head a few more times when he zoned out and burned the bacon, but it was worth it.

Because of the letters, the week before Harry's birthday was an anxious and exciting one. Every day he'd check the post before anyone else could, practically bouncing everywhere he went. If his mum was right, he'd be getting his letter soon. And he could hardly breathe with the anticipation. While Vernon seemed suspicious by his eagerness for the post, his aunt was fidgety and jumped at every branch brushing against the window or screech of tires.

Finally, one early morning, it arrived. A bright red seal stamped onto the letter gave it away quickly, though he turned it over just to be sure. A wild grin spread over his lips with the address. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Just like his mum'd said. It was all real and he was going to be a wizard. Quickly, he hid the letter away like he'd done with his mother's letters, running into the kitchen when Vernon bellowed what was taking so long. Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes slightly at him, but didn't say anything.

He could hardly wait for the day to end. All his chores were sped through quicker than he'd ever done in his life and as soon as it was time for bed, he gladly let them send him to his cupboard. Once he was sure none of them were going to check on him, he flopped down on his bed, almost hitting his head in the process. Harry didn't notice or care, just pulling open the envelope and tearing the seal. Not worried about being careful.

As he read, his stomach dropped. There was a long list of school supplies. Things like a cauldron and a wand. He had no money. Nothing. Not to mention, he had no idea how to get to Diagon Alley, a place his mother had mentioned more than once. He knew it was in London, but he had nothing beyond that. With a rock in the pit of his stomach, he stuffed the letter under his mattress and laid back. He could throw up. He hadn't thought any of this through. Turning on his side, he curled into a ball, and didn't get any sleep.

It wasn't until that morning when he heard an impatient tapping on his window that he got an idea. McGonagall was a familiar name from his mum's letters and Harry knew she was kind, if not strict. As it was early, the rest of the family wasn't fully awake yet. Dudley and Uncle Vernon were probably asleep and Aunt Petunia was probably showering. Though he peeked around the house quickly to make sure, he rushed to find a piece of paper and a pen.

The note was scrawled, rather quickly and messily.

 _Dear Deputy Headmistress,_

 _I don't know if this will get to you, I don't even know how owl post really works. All of this is really new to me, so I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. The thing is, I don't know how to get to Diagon Alley. I know it's in London, but I've never been there and my family can't go or know I'm going. And I don't have any money either. I know my parents had some, but am I allowed to get that? I'm really sorry if this is a bother and I'm sure you have way more important things to do, but I'd be really grateful if you replied quickly. Early mornings are better, because my family isn't awake. They'd kill me if they saw an owl dropping off a letter to me. Maybe just the regular post?_

 _Harry Potter_

Not sure where an envelope was and not wanting to make them suspicious of missing envelopes anyway, he just jotted down the school and her name on the back of the folded letter. Quickly and quietly, he opened the window and handed it to the owl who was starting to look rather impatient. He wondered if it'd been waiting there since he got his letter yesterday. When it refused to move, he huffed.

"What do you want? I don't have any wizard money," he hissed quietly, just in case he might wake anyone up.

According to his mum, the owls were really smart. This one gave what might be a disgruntled noise, beak gesturing to the kitchen. After quite a few minutes of trying to figure out what it wanted, Harry eventually tore off a little bit of leftover turkey from the fridge, and gave it to the bird. Seemingly satisfied with that payment, it flew off.

Just in time too, as not a second later, Aunt Petunia was bustling through the kitchen doorway.

"What are you doing with the window open, boy? You'll let all the hot air in!" It was more of a squawk than the one the owl had given and Harry yelped in surprise, nearly slamming the window closed.

"I just- I wanted some fresh air, is all. It gets hot in here with all the cooking..." He spared a glance for the stove, currently turned off. He hadn't even started breakfast. "That I was going to do. I thought I'd just open it before I cooked this time."

His aunt didn't look pleased at all, rather like she'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon instead. Although, that was usually the look she had.

"Your uncle and cousin are going to be awake any minute and they won't even have their breakfast. With everything they do for you, you'd think you'd be grateful enough to at least have breakfast ready! Get away from that window and if you try and open them again without permission, you'll be weeding the garden for a week."

Harry only nodded, doing his best to look chastened as he trudged over to start breakfast. In truth, he didn't care about getting shouted at. It was his life for as long as he could remember, and besides. He was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to learn magic. He was a wizard. Nothing, not even his aunt and uncle, could take that away from him.

* * *

When days went by without a response, Harry began to lose his confidence in that assumption. Maybe they'd decided against accepting him after all. Saw that he didn't have any money or transportation and determined he just wasn't worth it. Or maybe they sent him a letter by mistake. That could happen, couldn't it? That's always what his aunt and uncle had said. He was a waste of time and maybe Hogwarts had realized that too. For an almost eleven year old, he could be rather dramatic. The depressing thoughts had him in a gloomy mood, something Dudley much preferred to a happy Harry, taking pride in making his mood even worse.

On the morning of his birthday, when still no word had come, Harry sulked. He didn't whine and he didn't complain, but he was a little slower in cooking. If it weren't for his slight hope for Hogwarts and an odd kindness from his family, he wouldn't have remembered that it was his birthday at all. That morning, he was allowed an extra sausage link. Either they'd noticed as well, or they just hadn't seen him take it. Wanting to feel slightly optimistic, Harry chose to believe the former.

The strange allowance, however, didn't stop him from being told to sweep the house while they played a family game. Or rather, the board sat out while Dudley watched the telly, Uncle Vernon talked about his drills, and Aunt Petunia tried to pretend she was listening intently and not caught up in thoughts of the neighbor's new dog who wouldn't stop barking. Not that Harry could exactly blame her. The yapping was driving him up a wall. Not only was it his birthday, but he probably wasn't going to Hogwarts and he had a rather exceptional headache from where Dudley had pushed him into a wall the day before. Everything had Harry scowling at the dirt as he swept it up.

His headache wasn't helped when a loud motorcycle pulled in near Number Four. It was loud enough to be thunder, and just for a moment, Harry could feel himself thinking like his family about the stranger riding it. He wasn't usually so cynical. In fact, he rather thought people should be able to live their lives without the nosy Aunt Petunias of the world to get in their business. But today, he could only glare towards the source of the noise. When someone knocked loudly on the door, it just added to his annoyance. Knowing he wasn't supposed to answer the door, he set down the broom and headed back towards his cupboard. Great. Now his task was going to take up more of his time and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Sitting down on his bed (not almost hitting his head this time, I might add), he waited, feet swinging. Absently, he pulled one of his mum's letters from under his mattress, just to look at the signature. It had almost become a coping skill all its own, these letters. And he definitely needed a mood lifter, blocking out the sounds coming from the other room as he skimmed over the letter he'd read a hundred times over. Only when the voices grew louder and his uncle gave a rather angry shout did his head perk up.

Curiously, Harry stood up and pressed close to the door so he could hear better.

"I'm tellin' yeh, the letter came from 'ere!"

His next words and his uncle's were unheard, as Harry moved away quickly. They were coming this way and he didn't want to be caught listening in on their conversation, just in case Uncle Vernon yanked him out of the cupboard. He was halfway right, only it wasn't his uncle who opened the little door. Harry let out something between a yelp and a gasp of surprise. Not at the fact that they knew he was here (after all, the letter had been addressed to the cupboard under the stairs), but at the hulking form that stood in front of it. He couldn't even see the man's head, just a heavily clothed torso and gigantic boots.

He pressed himself back against the wall, half instinct from dealing with his uncle so many times, and half pure common sense. However, a few moments later, the figure bent further than Harry was sure the man had ever bent in his life, to show a man with a rather large beard When he saw Harry, his eyes lit up and he offered a friendly grin despite Uncle Vernon's shouts behind him. From what he could hear, he thought maybe Aunt Petunia was holding him back from trying to attack this huge man.

"Ah, there yeh are! Yeh must be Harry. What're yeh doin' in there? C'mon."

He beckoned him forward and even though he looked friendly enough, it was mostly out of not wanting to become Harry soup that he cautiously moved forward. The man stepped back, allowing the boy to step out and get a few view of him. He could barely fit in their house.

"Yeah, I'm Harry," he mumbled after a minute, rather dumbly. His eyes darted over to his family, who were all huddled in the doorway to the living room. Dudley and Aunt Petunia looked terrified, while Uncle Vernon looked ready to burst a vein. Slowly, he moved his gaze back to the… giant. That's the only word he could think of for the man and those had to be possible. His mum had known a half giant and the man certainly looked like he could be one of those. Harry wasn't going to say that though.

"I haven' seen yeh since yeh was a baby."

Rather alarmingly, the man looked like he might cry for a moment. Harry could only let out a small, "Oh," not really sure what else he was supposed to say to that.

"Well, where's yer shoes? We best be goin' if we wanna make it before the crowds." The man gave a grimace at that.

"Er, make it where? And sorry, what's your name?"

Harry was still pressed up against the wall, not exactly trusting this man on first sight. He knew enough about the world to know _that_ was dangerous. The man didn't seem too put off by his wariness, if he noticed it at all. Harry was slightly baffled at the extreme enthusiasm.

"Oh, righ'! I'm Hagrid, groundskeeper at Hogwarts. An' the Headmaster sent me to take yeh to Diagon Alley."

So he _was_ a half giant. Harry let out a relieved sigh, slumping a little as he relaxed from his tensed position against the wall. His mother had mentioned Hagrid plenty of times. They'd been friends, to a degree. At least he knew he was trustworthy. So he gave a shy smile before the rest of what he'd said caught up to his brain. His smile fell as he glanced at his aunt and uncle, doubting they'd let him go after a display like that.

"I uh… dunno if I can, Hagrid. I'd really like to though."

He added that last bit, maybe as a little bit of a plea to his aunt and uncle. Or maybe Hagrid would be more inclined to take him regardless of what his aunt and uncle said of it. Which they did, a beat later.

"He's right he can't! He's not going anywhere! We've dealt with enough from him, the last thing we need is this… this rubbish!" The words were from Uncle Vernon, who was going a little purple in the face.

Hagrid's friendly demeanor seemed to drop, stepping in front of Harry and walking closer to the huddled Dursleys, getting far too close for their comfort.

"He's goin' alrigh'. Unless yeh want Professor Dumbledore comin' 'ere himself."

Now that, Harry would love to see. He'd heard all about Dumbledore from his mother's letters, and from the look on Aunt Petunia's face, she remembered them just as well. Uncle Vernon looked like he was going to say more, but Aunt Petunia gripped his arm so hard Harry was sure it was going to leave indents. She shook her head at him, eyes wide. Apparently the threat of Dumbledore was enough to stop her taking his side on this. The Headmaster must have been pretty powerful for that.

His uncle looked at her with disbelief, seeming to communicate wordlessly. Still eerily resembling an eggplant, he gave a jerky little nod.

"Fine, take the boy. But if he causes any trouble when he comes back, any at all, and he's not setting foot out of this house again. You hear me, boy? None of your freaky business."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. All he cared about was that he was getting out for the day, to buy his supplies for Hogwarts. The school both of his parents went to. And come to think of it, his aunt and uncle didn't know that he knew about the wizarding world at all. He'd have to play dumb when he got back, but he didn't want to in front of Hagrid. Didn't want to look stupid in front of the first wizard he'd ever met. So let the Dursleys think he's just stupid enough to go along with whoever will take him.

"Yes, sir. I'll be really good. Thanks for letting me go," he made sure to add, not wanting to seem ungrateful. Really, he wasn't. He was lucky the Dursleys gave him what they did. Turning to Hagrid, he bit his lip. "Can I just grab a couple of things?"

"Course yeh can."

With that, Harry disappeared back to his cupboard to grab one of his mother's letters for luck, hiding it away. He also took his Hogwarts letter, so he could have the list with him, unsure if Hagrid had one too or not. Before he was about to leave, he decided to change shirts as well. All of them fit him horribly, but this was the shirt he used for chores, so it was even worse than the others. And on his first day in the wizarding world, he didn't want to be wearing a shirt with holes, bleach stains, and god knows what else.

Almost as fast as he left, he appears back at the half giant's side. The Dursleys are still huddled together, Vernon still looking rather maliciously at Hagrid.

"Alright, I'm ready."

He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

* * *

Diagon Alley was everything he hoped it would be. It barely got mentioned in the letters, as usually Petunia could hear about it after his mother got back from her school shopping trip. She never went, apparently. But there'd been some mention of it and he had no idea what to imagine, so he imagined everything. And they had almost everything.

The streets were crowded, despite Hagrid's best efforts to get there earlier. Harry didn't mind one bit. Everything was so interesting to him, constantly getting bumped into because he'd stopped to stare in a shop window or watch a passing wizard or witch and the sort of clothing they wore. His shabby clothing suddenly seemed that much more inappropriate and Harry tugged at the hem of his shirt with a small scowl.

The half giant didn't seem to notice, thankfully enough, and just kept walking. One enormous hand laid on Harry's shoulder to steer him in the right direction and keep him from getting stepped on or lost. While a part of him balked at that, another was sort of thankful. There were a lot of people. Their first stop was Gringotts so he could actually get the money to buy everything he needed. Now that, he hadn't heard much of. He only knew it was a bank, but not much else. Money wasn't something his mother had seemed to obsess over, though she'd been a little overwhelmed once she married his dad and suddenly had so much of it…

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to start daydreaming about his parents right now, not when there was something real and exciting going on around him. Not that his parents were unimportant. He felt a little guilty for even hinting anything close. Even though he was attached to Hagrid, he had to jog a little bit to get back in step with him, having slowed down slightly. Another reason to not start daydreaming.

Once inside the bank, he stopped dead, mouth agape. There were little… creatures, all looking rather bitter and annoyed. Hagrid turned back to look at him.

"Alrigh' there Harry?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Erm, what are those?" Harry whispered, not wanting them to hear him and get offended. They already looked pissed enough and he didn't want to get yelled at by one of them or worse, kicked out of the bank. "My mum never… I've never heard of them."

"Those're goblins. Run the banks, see."

Harry nodded like he understood. And he sort of did. At least he had a name for them now. And suddenly, everything was so much more real. He'd been on a flying bike and saw a stone wall slide to the side, but seeing something so… different, it shook him. This was real, he was in a world completely different than his own. And he was more excited for it than he had been about anything.

* * *

With the strange vault and its contents in the back of Harry's mind, he trusted Hagrid to take him where he should go next. Because Harry was completely clueless, as much as he hated that. But who could blame him? The Dursleys had never even bothered to tell him about the wizarding world, despite knowing the whole time. It made his blood boil, but he couldn't confront them about it without acknowledging that he'd read the letters.

"Yeh want to get fitted for yer robes for school," Hagrid's voice broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up (and up and _up_ ) at the man.

"Huh? Oh. Right, yeah. Let's do that."

That could be fun. He'd never been fitted for anything in his life. Or had clothes that fit at all, let alone perfectly. And the robes would help him look like everyone else in Diagon Alley, at least. He could hide away the shirt that kept looking more and more disgusting to him as the day went on. Once again, he tugged a little self consciously at it.

Dropped off at the shop, a witch started fitting him with clothes when he noticed another blond boy who although looked like he had a stick up his arse, looked decent enough. Deciding it might be a good idea to get to know someone other than Hagrid, he shifted just a bit, earning a slight reprimanding look from the witch.

"Hello," he started, loud enough for the other boy to hear him. What else was there to say? The boy blinked, clearly surprised at being talked to, though when he looked over to see someone else his age he relaxed slightly. Harry noticed a slight turn of his lips and he wondered if it was his clothes. Or his hair.

"Hello. Hogwarts too?" When Harry nodded, he continued on, not even looking at Harry anymore as he spoke. "I can't wait, personally. I hear it's the best school, aside from Durmstrang of course."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. His mum had never mentioned a Durmstrang. In fact, he didn't even know there were other wizarding schools. Which in retrospect, he should've. It's not like one one school could teach the immense population throughout the world.

"Yeah, my mum liked it when she went. I'm just excited to actually see Quidditch, mostly." There. Right. Mention something in the wizarding world, so he didn't look like a complete idiot. He wondered if this is how his mother had felt the first time she came here.

The other boy gave him a slightly sympathetic look at that.

"I assume your parents weren't fans? Well, mine are. I've been to so many matches it's practically boring. But I'll be on the Slytherin Quidditch team and playing will be the fun part." The boy grinned a bit and it looked slightly out of place on his features. Harry was about to comment that he wanted to play Quidditch too, and his dad had too actually, but he caught a comment and frowned.

" _Slytherin_ Quidditch? You mean you know what house you'll be in?" He didn't think that was how it worked, unless the way people were sorted changed since his parents went there… That would be bad. He'd been preparing for a talking hat, not something else. He hoped it wasn't anything harder.

"Of course I do," the boy answered, a little haughtily, like he'd been waiting to be asked. "My family has been in Slytherin as far back as our bloodline goes, you know. I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm sure you've heard the name."

 _Wow, pompous much?_ was Harry's immediate thought, and alright, maybe Aunt Petunia's judgmental attitude had rubbed off just a little. But assuming something like that was just ridiculously arrogant. Ignoring the fact that he had heard the name. From a few of his mother's letters, though for the life of him he couldn't remember why. Maybe they were just a popular family. A household name, he supposed. Still, it was a little annoying.

But he wasn't going to say anything. He didn't want to be rude or scare off a potential friend. He'd never had one of those.

"Oh, right. Slytherin makes sense then, I guess." He bit his lip, squinting a little at his reflection. He was probably supposed to answer with what house he wanted to be in too. Which he'd spent too much time than he'd like to admit thinking about. "I dunno what house I'm going to be in. Both my parents were Gryffindors, but I don't really know."

Draco sneered. Yep, definitely a sneer. Harry didn't even know people _did_ that in real life.

" _Don't_ be a Gryffindor. Everyone knows what a reckless bunch of idiots _they_ are. I'm sure your parents are perfectly fine, but I wouldn't recommend it." The last part seemed to be added unwillingly. Like he'd been trained to be polite and Harry wondered if that was the case. "Who _are_ your parents anyway? I've told you my name, it's only fair."

Harry took a sharp breath and both the boy and the witch looked over at him. Here was a choice to make. He knew he was apparently famous in this world, for supposedly defeating the man that killed his parents. Everyone knew who he was. And no doubt, this boy would get annoying if he told him. But then again, it could help. It might guarantee a friend. Or at least, someone who could tell him more about the wizarding world, that wasn't Hagrid. The enormous man was nice, but far from in his peer group.

While Harry didn't really like the idea of having a friend just because of who he was, he needed someone to, well, teach him. And being Harry Potter, he could maybe admit to not knowing as much without being judged too hard. He defeated Voldemort, apparently, who cared if he didn't know how their world worked?

So after a pause that was way too long for the question, he answered.

"Um, James and Lily. Potter," he answered in something akin to a cough. Almost hoping Draco wouldn't hear him. A wince at the reaction he knew was coming. When he looked up, the blond was looking at him with wide eyes.

" _You're_ Harry Potter?" His eyes traveled over his clothes again and Harry bristled. He really didn't think he liked this boy all that much. But he'd already said it. Too late to go back now. Suddenly, Draco's eyes narrowed slightly. "Show me the scar."

And okay, Harry had a little respect for that. It was annoying not to be trusted, but he wondered how many people had gone around claiming they were Harry Potter or that they'd adopted him or something. So he could see the point, even if it made him increasingly annoyed with the other boy. With a disgruntled little huff, Harry pushed aside his fringe to show the lightening bolt shaped scar. There was a small intake of breath from Draco.

"Sure am. _See_?"

Harry was half sure he heard something that sounded like, " _Merlin_ ," muttered under the boy's breath.

"I would invite you to go shopping with us, but I'm afraid we're already running late. However, perhaps we can see each other at the train. I'm sure your family will want to see you off, but I can show you how to get on the platform," Draco spoke up again a few minutes later.

Harry blinked. He knew he was just offering because of his name, but that would actually be… really helpful. His mum's mentions of getting to the platform had been vague at best and Platform 9 ¾ didn't even exist as far as he knew.

"Yeah, that'd be great," he answered, and his grin wasn't even fake. It might be because of his fame, but it was a start towards having a friend. Even if it was an overly arrogant friend who wanted nothing more than a good reputation. Oh well. Harry couldn't be picky after eleven years.

Draco gave a small, slightly strained looking smile in return.

"Good. I'll see you there, then."

With that, their conversation seemed to be over. The rest of the time was spent in silence, though there wasn't really much longer to go anyway. And once he was done with his robes, the rest of the trip seemed to go by faster than he wanted. It didn't feel like much at all later that he was going back home, only this time with a wand, trunk, and a snowy owl. His uncle was going to kill him. But it didn't keep the grin off his face, especially when it turned out he'd been given the smallest bedroom in the house, since the Dursleys didn't want to look bad, even to "those sort".

That night, he got the best sleep he'd ever had in his life. He was going to Hogwarts, he had a pet owl named Hedwig, and had plans to meet with someone. An actual person, who wasn't one of Dudley's gang or just too scared of them to actually go up to Harry. Or a cat, for that matter. Harry Potter was a wizard and he was going to have friends for the first time in his life. It was definitely the best birthday Harry could've wished for and he couldn't be happier.


End file.
